


Treasured

by Belladonnablush



Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins
Genre: F/M, Mild Sexual Content, Tumblr: promptsinpanem, everlark
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-31
Updated: 2014-08-31
Packaged: 2018-02-15 11:39:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,862
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2227650
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Belladonnablush/pseuds/Belladonnablush
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Just before they are to go back into the arena, Katniss and Peeta are showered with lavish, expensive gifts from Capitol citizens. Katniss wants nothing to do with the luxury items, but Peeta finds a use for them that ends up bringing them much closer together.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Treasured

**Author's Note:**

> Standard disclaimer, I don't own the Hunger Games or its characters. All credit to Suzanne Collins.
> 
> Written for Prompts in Panem, Day 6- Violet- Luxury

There is nothing that can possibly ruin this day for me... or so I think.

I've spent all day alone with Peeta in the gardens on the rooftop. No one bothered us, no one came to summon us for dinner. We've just finished watching the sunset together. Just for this one perfect day, it feels as if we are the only two people here, and that suits me just fine.

We stay on the roof until bedtime and then quietly slip down to my room without encountering anyone.

I look forward to one final luxury to end this day, that soon we will turn down the bed, and it will be Peeta's warm arms and comforting presence that allows me to sink into sleep.

He closes and locks the door behind us, and I turn on the lamp just inside the entry way. It is only then that we both notice the pile of beautifully wrapped boxes in the sitting area.

“What's all this?” I ask.

Peeta shrugs his shoulders and walks over to the pile.

“There's a note here.” he says. He picks it up, and reads it aloud. _“These gifts arrived for you today from some of the Capitol citizens. Make sure you write thank you notes. Effie.”_

I roll my eyes. We are down to what are probably our last few days of life, and Effie is worried about us looking ungrateful for receiving gifts from the very people who are sending us to our death.

“Why would they send us gifts anyway?” I ask Peeta. “I mean, they've got to know that we won't be alive much longer.”

“I don't know. Maybe they want us to know that we'll have sponsors in the arena?” he suggests.

The whole thing makes no sense to me. But then, nothing the Capitol does makes sense to me.

“Well, I don't want their stupid gifts. They can keep them.” I snap angrily.

“You're not even the least bit curious?” he questions. “Come on, let's unwrap them. Let's see what the Capitol felt that we needed to have. Maybe it'll be fun. Besides, Effie will say it's rude if we just leave them unopened.”

I sigh in resignation, and sulk my way over to the pile of gifts. Just looking at them infuriates me. The way I see it, every single package screams blatant wastefulness. Each one is wrapped in either shiny, embossed foils or in thick, glossy paper patterned with elegant florals or paisleys, then tied with festive bows of satin, taffeta or lace ribbon. Just the wrappings alone probably cost more money than most district twelve families ever have at their disposal to feed their children with, and that's just the decoration on the gifts, the part that gets thrown away.

I want nothing to do with them, and I'd like nothing more than to snub all the Capitolites by not even bothering to open these boxes, but I know Peeta is right. If we don't, Effie will never let us hear the end of it, and the last thing I need is to be subjected to another of her lectures on my lack of manners.

We both sit down on the floor and begin picking up the boxes and reading the tags. Part of me wants to hate every second of this, to stay angry and bitter, but as I sit next to Peeta while he reads each tag, listening more to the soothing sound of his voice than to the actual words he's speaking, I find my irritation dissipating a little bit at a time, slipping back into the relaxed mood that I'd been in when we'd come down from the rooftop a few minutes ago. It's been such a perfect day with him, that I decide I'm not going to let a bunch of stupid Capitol gifts ruin it.

With Peeta's calming effect, it doesn't take long before my sour mood melts away, and it becomes kind of a game, handing gifts to each other one at a time and opening them, snickering as we reveal to each other the lavish, expensive luxury items we've been given.

Some of them are for both of us, probably intended to be wedding gifts for a wedding that now will never take place. Crystal wine glasses, a set of fine porcelain teacups and matching little dessert saucers, silk pillowcases embroidered with our names.

We get matching bathrobes made of sleek, sumptuous satin. His is a deep navy blue, mine a pristine bridal white, of course. As if playing dress up, I pull my robe on over my clothes and sit back down on the floor.

I get ridiculous amounts of jewelry, none of which I would actually ever wear. I unwrap each piece, then hand it to Peeta, who has a much greater appreciation for their beauty than I do. First there's a necklace of emeralds in my favorite shade of green, then a ring with a huge sapphire surrounded by diamonds. Another box reveals a strand of creamy, lustrous pearls, long enough to wrap around my neck several times over. I receive a silver headband encrusted with crystals, fit for a blushing bride, and a brooch pin made of carved black onyx in the shape of a bird, that reminds me of a mockingjay. I open the next box to find a bracelet of rubies as rich and red as pomegranate seeds. I only spend a moment or two looking at each piece, but Peeta spends much more time admiring the jewels as he holds each one in his hands, turning it this way and that, captivated by the way the facets of each stone catch and reflect the light.

“See?” I tease him as he studies the ruby bracelet, admiring the flashes of cranberry and merlot and fuschia that sparkle from within each stone. “This is why I said you'd be a goner once the capitol got their hands on you. Your eye for beauty is your weakness.”

He smiles back at me and replies, “Admiring beauty is not a weakness. I'm not impressed by these jewels because of how much money they're worth. I just like their colors.”

“Of course you do.” I answer with a grin, as I hand him a larger box wrapped in silver paper. “Here, this one's for you. Maybe it'll be a whole pile of jewels for you to look at.”

“Here's hoping.” he says, giving me a smartass smirk.

While Peeta tears into his gift, I reach for the last box on the floor, a small one wrapped in pink foil with my name on it. I pull off the wrapping and open the hinged box to find a pair of earrings, with huge teardrops of pale blue aquamarine that look like droplets of ice dangling from platinum hooks.

_Gaudy_ , I think to myself, and turn to show them to Peeta, but he isn't paying any attention to me. He's completely engrossed in whatever's inside that box he's just opened.

“Well?” I inquire teasingly, “Is it your pile of jewels you were hoping for?”

“Better.” he beams, turning the box to show me its contents. It's a huge set of paints- rows and rows of little pots filled with the finest paints money can buy, in every single color you could ever imagine, and a dozen different size and shape paintbrushes to go with it. Underneath that is a thick pad of sturdy paper to paint on.

“Ah, finally, something that's actually useful!” I nod, pleased that he's gotten a gift that's worth far more to him than any other trinket or treasure.

“What's yours?” he asks, glancing at the box in my palm.

“Oh, earrings.” I say, rolling my eyes at the absurdity of their size and opulence, as I hold them out for him to see. “Don't they look exactly like something I'd wear?”

He chuckles for a second, and then his expression becomes more thoughtful.

“Put them on.”

I lift them out of the box and slide the hooks through each ear. They feel heavy on my earlobes, more of a burden to wear than a privilege, if you ask me. I turn my head slowly from side to side for Peeta to see them.

“Well? What do you think?” I ask sarcastically.

“I think I'd like to paint a picture of you.” he suggests.

“Oh, like this?” I quip, batting my eyelashes and putting one hand on my satin-robed hip, striking an exaggerated pose that mimics the models we see on the game shows on Capitol TV.

“No, not quite.” he laughs. “I want to paint you wearing all of your jewels,” fanning his hand over the piles of brilliant, priceless jewelry that lay between us on the floor.

“Okay.” I shrug, deciding that if Peeta wants to use his new paints that badly, I'll allow it. I reach down to pick up the strand of pearls that are pooled in front of my knees.

Just as I lift the strand in front of me to pull it over my head, he stops me by softly grasping one of my wrists with his fingers.

“Wearing _only_ the jewels.” he clarifies.

_“Oh...”_ I mouth silently, nervously dropping the pearls into my lap.

“I won't show anything, you know, _private_. It'll be tasteful. Is that okay?”

“I- I guess.” I stammer. I just sit there, not really knowing what I should do next.

“Are you sure?”

I nod at him. I trust Peeta, and it's not like we haven't seen each other in various states of undress before. Of course, he was never studying my body and painting my portrait, either.

“Okay. Go in the bathroom and take off everything except your robe. I'll set up a place to work.”

I do as he asks, removing every last piece of clothing, and then putting the white satin robe back on and tying the sash in a bow at my waist. With nothing underneath it, the satin feels smooth and weightless on my skin. I shiver, and I'm not entirely sure if it's from the sensation of the luxurious fabric, cool and light as air as it brushes against my naked breasts, or if it's my nerves for what I'm about to do. Maybe it's a little of both.

When I step out from the bathroom, I can't help but let out a giggle of relief and amusement when I see that Peeta is now dressed the same as me, wearing only his bathrobe. He stops arranging his paints on the bedside table and turns to face me.

“I thought it was only fair...” he explains, gesturing to his change into much less clothing.

“It looks good on you.” I blurt out, and that is a huge understatement. The dark blue satin brings out the color of his eyes, and looks quite striking on him. The thin fabric drapes nicely over his broad shoulders, and forms a deep, narrow V down his torso, giving me a peek of his chest- muscular, with a smattering of soft-looking blonde hairs, smooth pale skin- which my eyes follow all the way down to where the V ends at his waist, with the belt tied in a knot.

“You too.” he adds, jarring me from my shameless gawking at his body. “Are you ready?”

“Mmm-hmm.” I nod.

“Okay, come on over here and lie on the bed on your stomach.”

I step past him to the side of the bed and lie down on top of the fluffy down comforter. I sink into it, grateful that he has chosen a pose for me that allows me to maintain most of my modesty.

“Now untie your robe for me.” Peeta instructs, standing next to me at the bedside.

I reach down under my belly and pull the ends of the bow until it comes undone.

“You're sure you're okay with doing this?” he double checks.

“Yes.”

“Okay then... let's get your arms out of the sleeves.”

I feel him grasp the collar of my robe and slide it down off of my shoulders, and one at a time, he gently pulls each sleeve until my arms are free, and the rest of the robe remains draped over my back and legs.

“Here, rest your head on the pillow.” he suggests, tugging it closer to me. I reach for it, wrapping my arms around it and then resting my cheek into it.

“That's perfect!” he approves. “Stay just like that.”

“Oh, wait! Don't you want me to put the jewelry on first?”

“Nope. You just lie still and relax.” he tells me, then bends over so that his lips are next to my ear and whispers, _“I want to decorate your naked body with it.”_

_Oh my._

His words cause a fluttering in my stomach, followed by a surge of heat through my whole body. Only Peeta could make the simple act of placing gemstones on skin sound so deliciously sensual and sexy.

I feel the warmth of his hand hovering just above my mid-back, then the softest caress of his fingers, as he delicately takes hold of the satin and begins pulling down my robe, one slow, agonizing inch at a time. His fingertips brush lightly down my spine as he exposes the dip of my lower back, and then the rise of the curve of my bottom. I suck my breath in and quiver with anticipation as his fingers trace downward over one cheek, and then the whole robe falls to the floor next to the bed.

I can feel his eyes hungrily taking in the sight of my now naked body for just a second, maybe two, before he turns away from the bed to retrieve the jewelry that still lies scattered on the floor. I let out the breath that I hadn't realized I'd been holding, grateful for the momentary reprieve.

In a flash, he's back at my side, both hands cupped together carrying the jewelry, and I watch as he lays it all out on the bed next to my hip.

“Close your eyes, Katniss.”

Without questioning, I do as he tells me. I find it strangely erotic to be lying here, sprawled out naked in front of him, letting him do whatever it is he plans on doing with those jewels.

One piece at a time, Peeta begins working his artistry, decorating me in riches.

It starts out innocently enough, with him adjusting the way my braid falls over my shoulder, and fixing the earring in my ear that's closest to him, making sure that the icy, teardrop shaped stone is hanging in just the right place.

While he's still leaning down close to my ear, he lifts up my hand from where it rests next to the pillow, and slides the sapphire ring onto one finger. Ever so softly, he kisses my knuckles, then proceeds to encircle my wrist with the ruby bracelet. He fastens the bracelet's clasp, pausing for a moment to caress the inside of my wrist with his thumb, before lowering it back down to the bed and positioning my hand just where he wants it.

With his face still close to mine, I hear him murmur quietly, “I'm going to put a necklace on you now.”

His hands slide over my shoulders and down into the space between the front of my throat and the bed, where he fastens the clasp of the emerald necklace, then eases the line of stones backwards, so they fall in a cascade of green down my upper back. The chill of the cool metal and stones against my warm skin sends a shiver down my spine.

Peeta notices me shudder, and leans in closer until his lips nearly touch my shoulder. He exhales a warm breath along the line where the necklace lays, all the way up to the nape of my neck, where he pauses at my hairline, letting his lips brush my skin for just a fleeting moment.

It feels so unexpectedly good, that a low moan of enjoyment falls from my lips. I can't help myself.

“Warmer?” he asks.

Holy God, I was getting warmer alright, and not just on my neck.

“Uh-huh,” I manage to utter.

“Good.”

Slowly, carefully, he works his way down my back, making a line of jewels down the middle. He chooses each piece thoughtfully, a brooch here, an earring there, varying the colors of each stone he lays down. Each placement brings a delightful repetition of sensations. First the tickle of his fingertips ghosting over my skin, teasing me with lines and circles drawn down my spine until he finds just the right place, followed by the momentary shiver from the chill of cold metal and stone being placed against bare skin, until it warms to my body temperature.

Again and again he does this, the tension in my body rising with each touch of his hand, so that by the time he reaches my tailbone, I'm having a hard time staying still.

“Almost done,” he tells me, his voice low and raspy, in a tone I'm certain that I've never heard from him before, and suddenly I'm consumed with desire to hear it again.

The last piece Peeta picks up is the long string of ivory pearls. He eases one end of the strand down onto the curvature of my lower back, where the soft flesh of my buttocks begins. Then, he gradually lowers the length of it one inch at a time, the pearls making a soft click-click-click, one against another, as he lets them spiral into a small pile at the lowest point of my back, and then does what I least expect. He guides the necklace down the cleft of my bottom, then opens his hand, and lets the last few inches of the pearls fall down between my legs, where they come to rest against my most intimate parts. And Peeta leaves them there.

_Oh. My. God._

The sensation takes my breath away. I gasp sharply, completely surprised by where he's laid the necklace, and how unexpectedly pleasurable it feels. Any little movement I make brings a slight shift in the way the pearls brush against my sex, just barely touching me, really, but it's enough to awaken every nerve ending. The tender flesh of my womanhood suddenly feels hot, damp, hypersensitive to the weight and coolness of each pearl where it lays against virgin skin.

I want more. And I know that I can't have it right now, because I need to stay still. I want so badly to shift my hips, to feel the cool caress of the pearls against me, but I force myself to keep my movements as miniscule as possible, or else all the jewels will fall. I whimper in frustration, clenching fistfuls of the down pillow in both hands, trying to maintain some semblance of control.

Peeta stands there silently, reading my reaction to what he's just done, trying to determine whether the noises I'm making are because I enjoyed it or because I'm uncomfortable with it. Finally he works up his nerve to ask the question he's dying to know.

“Did that feel good, Katniss?”

Right this moment I can't decide if I want to say the hell with the jewelry and the painting, tear that satin robe off of Peeta and pull him into this bed with me, or if I want to strangle him for torturing me like this.

Finally I manage to whisper my one word reply.

“Yes.”

I can't bring myself to elaborate further, but that one word seems to be enough for him.

“Good...” he nods approvingly, admiring his work. “That's good. Now, don't move.”

He pulls a chair up next to the bed, sits down, rests the thick pad of painting paper on his knee, selects a paintbrush, and begins to paint the portrait of me lying on the bed, covered in capitol jewels.

His eyes dart between me, the paper, and the collection of colorful paint pots on the bedside table. For most of the time he is quiet, deep in concentration and lost in his work. Once my breathing slows to a normal rate, the room is quiet except for the tap of his brush against paint pots, and then the swish of bristles on paper.

It's only once he's reached the point of putting the final finishing touches on the portrait that he talks to me again.

“You know, you look good in all those jewels,” he teases me. “I'm beginning to think that living in the lap of luxury suits you.”

“Shut up.” I scoff at him, suppressing a grin. “Just finish the picture. I can't lie still for another minute.”

“Okay... just one more detail... and done!” he announces. “Wanna see?”

He turns the painting towards me, and I'm astonished. It truly is beautiful.

“Oh, Peeta...” I gasp in admiration. “It's gorgeous.”

It's obvious that I'm the girl in the painting, yet the way he's painted me, I look like some kind of goddess, my nude body radiant, dotted with vibrant multicolor jewels all the way down my back.

“You're that gorgeous without the jewels.” he says, setting the painting aside to dry. “You don't even need them. So, how about I take them off of you now?”

“Not a moment too soon.” I quip.

He doesn't keep me waiting much longer, gathering up the pieces of jewelry from my back and putting it all into one box for now. He unclasps the ruby bracelet, slides the sapphire ring from my finger.

Not surprisingly, the one he saves for last is the strand of pearls. He gently takes hold of the end of the necklace that rests on my lower back, then slowly, slowly, he pulls the rest of the pearls from their resting place between my thighs. As each pearl slides lightly one by one over my center and up between my legs, it creates the most incredible sensation, almost like droplets of water rolling over my hot skin. I squeeze my eyes shut tight, and though I try to hold it back, I let out a sort of high pitched whimper, and then groan into the pillow in aroused frustration when the length of pearls ends and suddenly, the sensation is gone.

I want that feeling back. I want to be touched there again.

Peeta clears his throat, apparently as surprised by my sounds of need, as I was by what he'd just done.

“I- I'm sorry. I'll put these away.” he stammers, his face flushed pink. He looks worried that perhaps he's taken his teasing one step too far, and that my frustrated groan means I'm upset. “You can put your robe back on. I promise I won't look.”

He starts to walk away from me but I stop him, reaching out my hand and catching the sleeve of his robe.

“Maybe I want you to.” I say awkwardly.

It's the first time I've really admitted it to myself, and now I'm admitting it to him too.

I want Peeta.

I want him to look at me, to touch me. I want to know the safety of his arms, the steadiness of his heart, the passion of his kisses. Even if our time together is limited to these last days before the arena, I want every last moment of mine to belong to Peeta.

When he turns back to face me again, he doesn't say a word, but his eyes speak volumes. They reflect so many emotions- hope, love, nervousness, desire.

I let go of his sleeve and then slowly, deliberately, I turn myself over on the bed, opening myself up to him like a flower. Now, instead of lying on my stomach, I'm lying on my side, facing where he stands.

I notice the bob of his Adam's apple in his throat as he swallows hard, trying not to stare too obviously at my body.

“God, you're so beautiful Katniss.” he breathes.

“Thanks.” I say, smiling shyly up at him, then I pat the bed next to me. “Come here.”

He lays the pearls down on the nightstand and sits down alongside me, then reaches over and caresses my face with one hand, gazing intently at me.

“Touch me.” I whisper, placing my hand over his and guiding it down until his palm covers my breast. I hear his breath catch in his throat, and then a quiet sigh as he tenderly cups it in his hand, then skims the pads of his fingertips over my nipple. He leans in close to me, kissing first my lips and then my breast that he still holds in his hand. I feel his breath and his mouth and his tongue on my nipple, and suddenly my body feels more alive than it ever has.

I want to make Peeta feel this way. I want to touch his skin, to feel his pulse, strong and rapid against my lips as I kiss my way down his throat to his chest. But first, I want to look at his body the way he's looking at mine.

I move my hand up his thigh until I reach the end of the sash that's holding his robe closed. I wrap the blue satin tie around my hand and then give it a gentle tug, pulling it until the bow at his waist comes undone and the robe falls open. I watch and bite down on my lower lip for a moment when he stands up, shrugs the robe off of his shoulders and lets it slide down his back and onto the floor.

“Ohhh...” I exhale, my eyes scanning up and down his body. I'd already known for a long time how strong he was, how he could lift great heavy bags of flour at the bakery. I'd already seen him mostly naked in the last arena a year ago. But now, his body looks so much more mature than I remember it. Over this past year, when I wasn't looking, the baker's boy had grown into a man.

A very _sexy_ man.

I extend my arms out to him, and that's all the invitation he needs. He reclines himself down onto the bed next to me, and I pull him into my arms so that he's laying practically on top of me. We kiss, long slow languid kisses, and each one only leaves me wanting more.

Just his kisses alone feel like a luxury that I could get lost in, letting the world outside our door just disappear while we lay tangled together on this big bed, surrendering to our desire. He tucks his face into the crook of my neck, his breath hot, trembling as he kisses my throat, kisses the dip of my collarbone. My back arches in enjoyment, and my hips lift upward, needfully seeking the friction of his body against mine. I moan gratefully when he shifts his position slightly, just enough so that the hardness of his own arousal now brushes against my center with each rhythmic rocking of my hips. Every kiss, every touch only makes my need for him greater, intensifies my longing to feel his hands all over me.

His hands, those talented hands that only a few minutes ago had brought the image of my naked body to life in a painting, now work a different kind of artistry, bringing my body to life using strokes of his fingers rather than a paintbrush. His hands travel up and down the curves and valleys of my torso in inquisitive exploration, igniting a firestorm of heat deep within me.

“Touch me like you did with the pearls.” I practically beg of him, in a breathless whisper.

He repositions himself alongside me, and for a moment I miss the weight and warmth of his body on top of mine, but when he touches me, every conscious thought in my mind is forgotten. He slides his hand down the inside of one thigh, and I let my legs fall open wider in anticipation. I gasp in pleasure when he delicately opens me up with his fingers, and proceeds to show me pleasure like I've never known before. He's as new at this as I am, yet he seems to possess the ability to read my body as if he's known it all his life. Maybe it's the artist in him, just knowing intuitively when his fingers are doing something right, like how he knows just the right way to shade a drawing of a leaf to give it dimension, or the way his fingers can shape each petal of a frosting flower to make it look as if it's bending towards the morning sun.

Or maybe it's just that Peeta pays attention, watching me with fascination as his fingers slip softly between my folds and learns quickly when he touches me in a way that makes me pant and moan, to keep doing it.

“God, feel how wet you are, Katniss.” he rasps, and my face burns when I'm suddenly aware of how slicked with my wetness his fingers have become.

“O-Oh..” I stutter, embarrassed by the degree of my own arousal, “I'm sorry.”

He smiles and kisses me. “Don't be sorry. I meant that I liked it. It's so sexy.”

_Oh._

“I think it must mean that I'm doing something right?” he asks hopefully.

Nodding my head enthusiastically, I encourage him, “It's so good...Don't stop.”

He continues his slow motions, glancing downward to watch his own fingers as they glide wetly over the tender flesh of my sex, my hips rolling in rhythm with the circles he makes with his fingertips. He moves downward, until one finger finds my entrance and he carefully slides it in. The sensation is exquisite, as he sinks it into me a little deeper. When he pulls his finger back out of me, he brings it to his lips, and my eyes open wide in surprise when he pops his finger in his mouth and sucks on it.

“I wanted to know what you taste like.” he murmurs. “I like it.”

Before I can even reply, his fingers are back between my legs, and I feel like the tension coiled in my belly is more intense than ever. I rest my hand lightly on top of his when his fingertips find my clitoris, and I squeak out a strangled moan of enjoyment.

“Yes... right there...” I pant in ecstasy as he teases my bundle of nerves.

With his talented fingers tapping and circling just where I want them, it isn't long before I'm over the edge, whimpering in pleasure as my orgasm hits and washes over me in waves. It takes me a minute to come down, to catch my breath after the high he's just brought me to. Finally I open my eyes and look at him, and he says nothing, but the passion in his kiss says it all.

I turn closer to him, and as we kiss, I feel his erection twitch against my hip. I reach down and take him gently in my grasp, smoothing my hand over his silky skin, so hot against my palm. He's so worked up from watching me that just this first touch of my hand elicits a deep growl of lust from him. I've never heard such a sexy sound in my life.

I want to take my time learning to pleasure him the way he did me, to explore every inch of him, thick and hard and pulsing in my fingers, but Peeta can't wait that long. Not this first time, anyway. He wraps his own hand over mine and shows me how to stroke him. I'm enthralled as he guides my hand up and down over his length, watching his excitement escalate rapidly with each stroke. His eyes which normally look so gentle and kind, are now hungry with urgent need, his pupils dark and dilated with arousal. His mouth hangs open, moaning his appreciation as he guides my hand in a faster rhythm now. I watch his face change expression as he chases his climax. His eyes squeeze shut, his brow furrows, he gasps ragged breaths of air, and then my name hissed between his clenched teeth, just before I feel his body spasm and shudder, and suddenly warm wetness fills my palm and the spaces between my fingers.

Watching Peeta come, knowing that it was my name on his lips at that very moment, was the hottest, most erotic thing I'd ever seen, and it made me wonder why I'd been denying my feelings for him for so long.

We go into the bathroom afterward with the intention of cleaning up and going to bed for the night, but all it takes is Peeta giving me a mischievous grin and a glance towards the shower, and I know that our night is nowhere near over just yet. We don't know what tomorrow is going to bring for us, so we decide to make today, this one perfect day, last as long into the night as we can. We step into the shower together and start our discovery of each other's bodies all over again, this time all slick with luxurious frothy soap bubbles scented like lush tropical fruit. And this round, I get to take my sweet time, massaging his body with slippery hands, gradually working Peeta up into a frenzy of lust until he comes for me again, this time with me sitting on his lap facing him on the tiled shower bench. We spend so long in the shower that the whole bathroom is steamed up and we can't see anything past the frosted glass shower door. But we don't care, as far as we're concerned, the world outside this shower door has ceased to exist anyway.

When we finally decide it's time for bed, I turn down the comforter while Peeta brushes his teeth. I walk over to the dresser and pick up the painting, smiling to myself as I admire the work of his gifted hands. It's not until I take a closer look at the painting that I notice the tiny writing, where he's put the title and his signature in the bottom corner, in his familiar cursive script.

_“Treasured” by Peeta Mellark._

I nod approvingly at his choice of title.

When he steps out of the bathroom, I take him by the hand and pull him into bed with me, resting my head on his chest, listening to the soothing beat of his heart, and drifting off into the twilight just before sleep.

I decide that no matter what happens to us or to our painting when tomorrow comes, the title he's given it is perfect.

Of all the gifts in this room- the fine clothes, the sumptuous bed linens, the expensive jewelry- none of it matters to me. There is only one gift, one luxury in this room that's worth more to me than all the money in Panem, and that's being treasured by Peeta Mellark.


End file.
